


Unbroken

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Scar kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: 5-minute fluffy drabble request by @eurusholmmes - “Cas? And scar kisses, but the READER gives him scar kisses?” Confession: It took me longer than 5 minutes to write because I LOVED this concept. So, now you have a short one-shot. Some mild angst consistent with Castiel’s canon skewed self-view. Ultimately fluffy.





	Unbroken

Until you met Castiel, you didn’t believe in the notion of being loved, inside and out, without reservations, with divine patience, and with immeasurable depth of understanding. From the first innocent inklings of your friendship and tumble into the intense intimacy of a full-blown romantic affair, Castiel nurtured an unyielding desire and curiosity to understand and acknowledge every intricacy of your existence – the polished mask painted with often false confidence and cushioning sarcasm that you display for the world, the fettered margins of your soul where you lodge regret and anxiety, your silly secret hopes and dreams, the nuanced history of your human experience since your creation day, and the map of every scar, blemish, and sun-kissed freckle writ upon your physical form. You opened up your heart and mind to the angel in ways you never imagined possible, and in doing so discovered the joyful serenity of experiencing another’s wholly loving acceptance of you.

There existed only one complication between you – not the fact that he was an angel and you a human as an outsider might have guessed, but rather it was Castiel’s deeply ingrained belief in himself that he was a damaged, undeserving, and ultimately unlovable being which wedged an invisible barrier between you preventing him from accepting in return this same precious gift of love he so freely gave to you. You perceived his crippling and seemingly insurmountable self-doubt despite his attempts to hide it from you. You observed it in the defeated slouch of his shoulders when he thought you weren’t looking. Saw it in the somber glaze of his eyes when a particular failure was recalled to him. Feared it in his needlessly reckless sacrificial risks on behalf of you, the Winchesters, and humanity. Felt it trembling beneath the touch of your fingertips in the stoically suppressed frustration coiling the muscular frame of his vessel when you made love. And although you told him daily that you loved him, that your heart beat solely for him, and your soul shone brightest in his presence, he could not reconcile within himself the idea of being worthy of anyone’s love, let alone yours. He held you near in his arms and somehow simultaneously pushed you out of reach. This stubborn refusal to be loved on his part did nothing to deter you from trying.

Cuddling the angel in the coziness of your bed, senses tingling in the pleasant afterglow of lovemaking, you traced an invisible meandering path down the broad expanse of his bare torso. The scars of his vessel were as familiar to you as yours were to him, and they held none of your interest as none of the visible ones actually belonged to him. The faded red line beside his navel? Jimmy’s teenage appendectomy scar. The rough patch of silvery pink skin behind his temple where his hair rebelled in a particularly unruly curl? Third grade bicycle accident in grandma Novak’s gravel driveway. The tiny imperfection of translucent flesh above his lip? Jimmy’s carelessness in trimming a tree in front of his home in Pontiac, Illinois a mere week before the angel fatefully spoke to him. Castiel’s own scars cut deeper than you could discern with the limits of human perception, and if your eyes had been capable of viewing them, you would have wept to witness the radiance of his celestial being burdened by them.

The soft pads of your fingers caressed a smooth area of flesh over his abdomen and he flinched, the reflex nearly imperceptible, but nonetheless noticed by you. Interest piqued, you returned your attention to the unmarked spot, and again, the ever-so-subtle shiver of his frame occurred in response. You propped up on an elbow to examine the area more closely.

His palm skimmed to the curve of your hip as you rose from his warm embrace, expression resolving into an inquisitive squint as he watched the gentle probing of your fingers, asking after a moment, “What are you doing?”

“Here,” you whispered, meeting his questioning blue gaze and rubbing the unblemished skin, “there’s something here that bothers you.” You lightly stroked the place again.

Eyes dimming, he reached for your hand, guiding it away, deliberately covering the action with a tender brush of his lips to your knuckles, mumbling, “It’s nothing.”

In your heart of hearts you knew this to be untrue. Normally you would let the matter drop, understanding and respecting he was protecting himself and probably unaware even of the lie – instinctively fearful of being hurt, of adding your rejection to the extensively long list of his sufferings. But he didn’t need to shield himself against your unwavering devotion and you’d grown progressively weary of the unacknowledged walls he erected. You remembered all at once, with glowing clarity, the location of every fragment of outwardly unsullied flesh where he’d involuntarily shuddered or tenaciously redirected your attentions elsewhere during these few physically intimate weeks together. Leaning down, your parted mouth hovering over the sensitive spot in question, a sultry exhaling of breath ghosted warmly over the rippling goose-prickled skin before your lips tendered a feather-light kiss thereupon.

A shaky sigh shook his chest, the outpouring of love upon your lips penetrating the shell of his vessel to soothe the scar you intuited was hidden below the surface – a marring of his celestial being where he’d been shot by the angel-blade forged bullet he later dug out of his abdomen and used to kill one of his brothers in self-defense.

You stared up the plane of his vessel into his astonished gaping aspect, greatly pleased by his encouraging reaction. Lifting your lips from the scar, you shifted up his body to place a kiss upon his heart at the site where he’d been stabbed and mortally wounded by a reaper during his graceless stint as a human.

His fingers tightly gripped your hip, head falling back to the pillow, an airy groan rumbling from his lungs beneath your doting kiss.

You moved upward further still to kiss his vibrating throat, just below the bobbing knot of his Adam’s apple, where the scribe of God had left a concealed but deep scar while cutting out his grace in a cruel betrayal to cast the angels from Heaven. You scattered a multitude of kisses stretching the angel’s entire vessel-bound body, the permanent state of tenseness seizing his muscles diminishing with each loving caress of your lips – the self-isolating pain of his scars relieved by your recognition and acceptance of them as a distinct and beautiful part of him.

Carding your fingers through his tousled hair, you kissed last the wetly brimming salt-laced lashes shuttering his eyes. Humming into his ticklish fluttering lids the beautiful Enochian words of veneration he so often whispered to you, you sought to ease his greatest scar of all – the jaded vision he maintained of himself.

When you sweetly professed again your love for him, when he opened his gleaming blues to bask in your adoration and in the revelation of the strength of scars to reinforce us in the places where we have been torn apart in order not to remind us of failures and mistakes but to once more make us whole and stronger than before, he allowed himself to believe he was as unbroken as you perceived him to be and worthy of love.


End file.
